Sometimes I am amazed. Amazed at how beetroot can go everywhere but in his mouth, and out of his bottom in equal measures of messiness.
Sainsbury's delivers my groceries, and sometimes I get more or less than I bargained for. Last week I got a pumpkin the size of my fist. (The usual size, it seems, was not available.) This week I got bunch of 23 beetroots.
This kid is going to be eating red for a while to come. And staining everything within a five metre radius, myself included.
Coffee is my best friend, actually.
And so is this book, because Sebastian finds it endlessly entertaining, more so than anything in this world, apparently.
(Giving me time to actually drink my coffee. Hooray!)
Back on the Cape Town Beach Diet, 2.0. I only have about a month. Which means, a healthy dose of air, leaves and a sprinkling of quinoa are the only things allowed, basically.
Sometimes I am deeply sad. When I take time to think about Molly, I feel close to her, but it also means I go down a dark tunnel, do a left and there I am, in a hole that sucks me in. When I'm inside this hole - and it might only be for half an hour - I feel like the Sadness grips me and never lets me go. I feel so helpless and small in comparison to the Sadness.
Once I am out of the hole, I am alright again. I only visit the hole of Sadness a few times a week these days, but it still pulls me in.
Sometimes I get cataclysmically frustrated. Because I believe people still think, it seems, that I should be 'over' my sadness and focus on my living child. I focus on my living child pretty much 23 out of 24 hours, he is his own person. My dead child was also her own person. Just because I had one left out of two doesn't mean you just forget about the other. It does not work that way. My loss is slightly more complex than those who have simply lost a single child.
So if you think I should be 'over' this, fuck you.
Sometimes I wish more people have lost something human so that they understand. Only people who have lost really get it.
Sometimes I wonder how I will transgress back into my old life. Work, in other words. Well, I went in for half a day last week. Absolute mindfuck, but somehow not. Same same, but different. Watching marketing strategy presentations and wondering how this will fit in with my strategy at being a functioning working mother.
We had cocktails afterwards. And then some good Mexican food out of a hole in the wall somewhere in East London. That was quite nice. And we didn't even get food poisoning. Total bonus.
Sometimes the thing that used to make me stir inside the most, comes back to itch me again. I have parked my favourite hobby, for the most part, this year, because my new favourite hobby - growing and rearing a child - takes priority.
The Brit travels a lot for work, but most of the places he goes to, we have been before or otherwise don't appeal, so I haven't joined him on a trip for a while.
Until he said 12 magical words two night ago.
"Shit, I forgot, I am going to Finland in two weeks time."
Hold the bus, where?
I say, that doesn't sound like Germany (where he is now) or France. That sounds cold, weird and foreign. Possibly even communistic. Probably bleak and brutalist.
Just the kind of places I love.
In fact, Dove and I had made plans to go there on our Baltic trip, but ran out of time.
"Sebastian and I are coming to Helsinki with you."
It'll be dogs balls freezing, and Seb will need to be transported around in a featherdown sleeping bag, but it will be a winter wonderland full of startlingly Scandinavian people who speak in Eskimo Language.
Yeah, I mean, it's practically the North Pole.
But I get to tick another country off the list. And maybe see a real igloo and stuff.
I can't wait.